“We must have a gate there.”
“Certainly,” said the servant, touching his hat. But he honoured me with a look, as much as to say, “Thank you for nothing, Sir. It’s a pity you hadn’t served under Colonel Jones, for he would have taught you to mind your own business double quick.”
We then proceeded to the door, and the doctor welcomed the party to the “Bachelor Beaver’s-dam,” as he called it. In the mean time, the bustling little old woman returned, and expressed great delight at seeing us. The place was so lonesome, she said, and it was so pleasant to see ladies there, for they were the first who had ever visited the doctor, and it was so kind of them to come so far, and she hoped they would often honour the place with their presence, if they could put up with their accommodation, for she had only heard from the doctor the night before; and she was so sorry she couldn’t receive them as she could wish, and a whole volume more, and an appendix longer than that, and an index to it, where the paging was so jumbled you couldn’t find nothin’.
Jackson joined in, and said he regretted his commissariat was so badly supplied. That it was a poor country to forage in, and that there was nothing but the common rations and stores for the detachment stationed there. But that nothing should be wanting on his part, and so on. The housekeeper led the way to the apartments destined for the girls. Peter assisted the boy to unharness the horses, and the doctor showed Cutler and myself into the hall, where the breakfast table was set for us. Seeing Jackson marching to the well, as if he was on parade, I left the two together in conversation, and went out to talk to him. “Sergeant,” sais I.
“Yes, your Honour,” said he, and he put down the pail, and raised his hand to his forehead.
“I understand you have seen a great deal of service in your time.”
“Yes, Sir,” said he, looking well pleased, and as if his talking tacks were all ready. I had hit the right subject. “I ave gone through a deal of soldiering in my day, and been in many a ard fight, Sir.”
“I see you have the marks on you,” I said. “That is a bad scar on your face.”
“Well, Sir,” said he, “saving your presence, I wish the devil had the Frenchman that gave me that wound. I have some I am proud of having received in the service of my king and country. I have three balls in me now, which the doctors couldn’t extract, and nothin’ but death will bring to the light of day again, if they can be said to be seen in the grave. But that scar is the only disgraceful mark I ever received since I first joined in 1808.
“When we were laying siege to Badajoz, Sir, I was in the cavalry, and I was sent with a message to a brigade that was posted some distance from us. Well, Sir, as I was trotting along, I saw a French dragoon, well mounted, leading a splendid spare orse, belonging to some French hofficer of rank, as far as I could judge from his happearance and mountings. Instead of pursuing my course, as I ought to have done, Sir, I thought I’de make a dash at the rascal, and make prize of that are hanimal. So I drew my sword, raised myself in my saddle (for I was considered a first-rate swordsman, as most Hinglishmen hare who have been used to the single-stick), and made sure I ad him. Instead of turning, he kept steadily on, and never as much as drew his sabre, so in place of making a cut hat him, for I’de scorn to strike han hunarmed man, my play was to cut is reins, and then if he wanted a scrimmage, to give him one, and if not, to carry off that hare orse.